When You Were Young
by sweetPixiesmile
Summary: Another Speed write song-fic. Inspired by "When You were Young" by The Killers. MonBon.
1. When You Were Young Lyrics

_**When You Were Young  
**by The Killers  
Parentheses mine._

_You sit there in your heartache  
Waiting on some beautiful boy to  
save you from your old ways  
You play forgiveness  
Watch it now ... here __(s)__he comes!_

_(S)He doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
But (s)he talks like a gentleman  
Like you imagined when you were young_

_Can we climb this mountain  
I don't know  
Higher now than ever before  
I know we can make it if we take it slow  
Let's take it easy  
Easy now, watch it go_

_We're burning down the highway skyline  
On the back of a hurricane  
that started turning  
When you were young  
When you were young_

_And sometimes you close your eyes  
and see the place where you used to live  
When you were young_

_They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet  
You don't have to drink right now  
But you can dip your feet  
Every once in a little while_

_You sit there in your heartache  
Waiting on some beautiful boy to  
To save you from your old ways  
You play forgiveness  
Watch it now here __(s)__he comes_

_(S)__He doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
But __(s)__he talks like a gentleman  
Like you imagined when you were young  
(__(S)__He talks like a gentlemen, like you imagined when)  
When you were young_

_I said __(s)__he doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
__(S)__He doesn't look a thing like Jesus  
But more than you'll ever know_


	2. When You Were Young

A/N: Another speed write fanfic. This one rolled around in my head for a while first though. Inspired by "When You Were Young" by The Killers.

Disclaimers:

Kim Possible © Disney

When You Were Young © The Killers

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**When You Were Young**

**

* * *

**Do you remember that night?

I was drunk. Gawd I was so drunk.

I was drowning my lonely, unfulfilled sorrows in a dive in Greenwich Village. On the stained streaked television propped up on the seedy cluttered backshelf, the news was on. Of course, they had to show Kim's big splash on CNN's Events of the Year on the Eve of the next. Big news. She'd gone places. She'd become the new fantasy heroine. Already having been all over the world, she'd looked higher. First person to Mars, on a top secret experimental hyperflight engine built by her geek brothers. Backed by her friends and family. There'd been a mechanical failure. She'd orbited but didn't land. It was Apollo thirteen all over again. People all over the world sat riveted to their idiot boxes to see her return

And then there was me. The year before, I was the star pupil of the School of American Ballet in New York. I was good. No, I was the best, they'd ever seen. That's what they'd said. Even Baryshnikov, when he'd visited a friend who was on faculty. What they told me. Took home God-knows how many awards from the NY Competitions. Not even a graduate I was asked to be Principal Clara for the Nutcracker at the Lincoln. I was planning my wedding to the heir of a multi-billion fortune.

A year later, I was spending New Year's Eve alone, wallowing in my own filth, drowning my shattered dreams in hard liquor.

I blew out my knee. Irreparably. Destroyed it even more, looking for someone, anyone, willing to operate. Found out Junior was gay and had friends with benefits all over the world. His daddy's billions, frozen for criminal activity. Dumped two days ago.

When Kim's splashdown and safe return flight came up on screen, I'd screamed and raved at it, spewing all the bitterness and vitriol out. Purging myself of it.

Was shown the door, not kindly.

I don't really remember much afterwards. Remembered yakking all over some other New Year reveller. She didn't appreciate my snappy comebacks. Neither did her friends, all fifteen of them. They chased me. She held me down while some of them took off my jeans, then their own pants.

I passed out before anything happened, fainting from terror.

Remember when I woke up in your bed, with you in it beside me? Head hurt like all hell, but I still had pretty good lungs. Screamed like no tomorrow. I was going to bean you in the head, but then you turned over.

They'd knocked out two of your teeth, broke your nose and gave you two black eyes. Learnt later, when I insisted you go to the nearby walk-in, fractured your left cheekbone.

I think that's when it started. The feeling.

I almost hurled on your sheets. Spotted the bathroom in your tiny studio basement apartment. Made it to the sink.

After I finished praying to the porcelain god, I couldn't believe it.

I'd made your best friend's life miserable in high school. I'd ragged on her, spread lies about her, stole every boy she even blinked at.

You said, you were just on your way home from Club Banana's Talent Institute. That you'd saw who I was. That you'd thought about walking on by. That you couldn't let what was happening happen to anyone, even me.

Do you know how small that made me feel?

Ever since Kim took you on your first mission, you'd been taking karate and Tai Chi. You waded in like a Warrior Queen, knocked out the two biggest guys. Kept them off me. You took your lumps, but was the last one standing. The girls had to drag away the guys, and you took me home, before passing out.

And that... that felt so good, after almost a year of tragedy and loneliness.

Even after, I was a wreck. Crying fits. Depression. How does someone deal with broken dreams and a broken heart?

But you...

You saved me.

You held me through those bad days, talked to me on the good ones.

When you suggested I become your common-law I was in shock, I was disgusted. I was so damned turned on, I wanted to run away and hide. You said it was so I could share your benefits.

You helped find me get physio for my knee. It'd never be the same, but I could start dancing again, little by little. You helped me start my own little neighbourhood ballet school.

Defended me with Kim the first time she stopped by. I thought I'd die when she made a surprise visit during one of her save-the-world gigs. I told her I was sorry. She'd stared at me for a moment and said, she was too.

And as the days went by, my heart started to heal. I sniped less. I started looking outside myself.

Started loving you.

I didn't want to. God knows I was the biggest 'phobe in Middleton High, and blacklisted every lesbo in the school.

Heh. Queen B. B for Bitch.

You quit CB to start your own line Missy Mo. Took my shame and started another, Queen B. Made it something to be proud of.

It made me cry, but it was all good.

You had your failures too. Labron turned into Lawrong. Wes was a leech. Chaz, a wino. Each scrub, each break up, I waited up for you. Gave you a tissue, a shoulder and a tub of ice-cream.

It's been three years now.

It's New Year's Eve.

We've eaten. We're sipping water, sitting on the couch, watching television, waiting for the ball to drop.

The champagne is chilling in a bucket.

It's quiet, but for the first time, in a long time. I feel it. At peace. Not just with others, or my family... or with you. With myself.

But I'm nervous too.

How do you tell your own personal Jesus you want to be lovers?

You've got a silly party hat on and I can't stop thinking how cute that is.

I pour the champagne and hand you a flute. I drain mine.

The count down starts.

5.

You smile and down yours.

4.

I slide closer. You put an arm across my shoulders

3.

You put mine around your waist.

2.

We shout along with the television.

1.

You lift the small popper I'd bought. It's now or never. Time to put it all on the line, Bon-Bon.

"Happy New" is all that escapes your lips before I stop them with mine.

I put everything that I am into it, all the complicated feelings I have, the second life you've given me. I linger for a few seconds, then I pull back. Your dark African eyes are wide, and perhaps a bit unfocussed.

"Happy New Year", I whisper.


End file.
